


a little bit scandalous

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Royai Week, Royai Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: The Colonel and the Lieutenant have an unusally candid conversation.--Written for Royai Week 2020, "Crackle."
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 27
Kudos: 136





	a little bit scandalous

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Into You," by Ariana Grande.

Identifying and interviewing candidates for the State Alchemist program requires travel all over the Eastern area of Amestris. A lot of soldiers - hell, even most of Roy’s unit - dislike travel. They’re reluctant to leave the comforts of home and put up with questionable accommodations and questionable food, not to mention the practical annoyances. The long rides in trains that are either too hot or too cold, and the inevitable delayed connections that turn a four-hour trip, one way, into a six-hour trip.

Roy loves to travel. He always has, ever since he had been a kid accompanying his aunt on trips outside of Central to meet with her network from outside of the capital city. The inconveniences are, well, inconvenient, but they don’t bother him much. They are considerably outweighed by the fascination of seeing the rest of the country firsthand; striking up conversations with locals (or overhearing conversations between locals) and listening to them talk about how they live, about what their thoughts and concerns are. 

Employment is an issue in the northeastern sector of the East Area, and has been ever since the mines closed. Import of food and other necessities to the southwestern area is sketchy and unreliable. The farthest west areas of the Eastern region have a significant problem with drug-related crime, due to its proximity to Central. Roy notes all of this down in his travel journal during the train rides for later reference. 

_ I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the people,  _ he tells his unit. They agree that his phrasing is “a little creepy,” but also agree that this genuine interest in the populace is what makes him a good leader. 

This month’s trip has taken Roy and his Lieutenant to Liore, near the border of the North Area. It’s quite a bit colder than it had been in East City, even though it’s hardly a week into October. Their appointment with this potential State Alchemist candidate - Robert Gotha - is at eight the following morning, leaving them with just about twelve hours of downtime when they check into their inn.

The rooms are side-by-side on the first floor. All Roy wants is a hot shower and dinner, in that order, but Riza insists on doing a sweep of his room first, as she always does, and making him wait outside for his own security. 

“Nobody outside of Grumman’s office and our unit knew of our travel plans,” Roy points out, risking her displeasure by opening the front door a crack. Riza is inspecting the interior of the room’s small closet. “There are no explosives under the bed or under the sink. I’m willing to bet that there are no assassins hiding in the bathtub, either.”

She throws him a glance, and a frown. “You never know, sir. You remember Major Rosen. The bomb was strapped to the back of his nightstand. We shouldn’t take any chances.”

Roy does remember Philip Rosen, the Bone Alchemist, blown to bits a year and a half ago by a survivor of the Ishvalan massacre. He nods, somewhat abashed. “I appreciate your diligence, Hawkeye.”

“Of course, Colonel. Now, please close the door. You can wait in my room, if you want to set your things down somewhere.”

Riza’s room is even smaller than his. Maybe the reminder of the Bone Alchemist’s fate had set him on edge, but Roy walks the perimeter of her room, checking in the bathroom, pulling the closet door open. The last thing he needs is for someone who planned on attacking him to find Riza instead. Everything seems safe, but drafty, and he frowns, noting the lack of fireplace in the room. 

Riza returns in a few minutes, and draws her coat closer around herself the moment she walks in. “Clear,” she says. “The locks are flimsy. I suggest bracing your chair against the door, just in case.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Your room is secure too.” He sees the surprise on her face, and he’s rewarded with a small smile. “It’s cold, though. You don’t have a fireplace. Do you want to switch?”

Riza shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. I sleep better when the temperature is a little lower.” 

“At least have dinner and do your paperwork with me, then.” Roy walks to the door. “Your food will go cold in a couple of minutes if you eat it here.”

Riza hesitates, and then nods. “Thank you. I’ll go get dinner for us now.”

He doesn’t have to tell her what he would like. She already has his preferences memorized, as he does for her. Roy gives her the key to his room, and the first thing he does when stepping in is to light a fire in the fireplace. It warms the room instantly, and he sighs with relief. 

The shower has dreadfully weak water pressure, but at least it’s hot. Roy towels his hair dry, pulls on a pair of dark pants and a white button-down shirt, and then steps out, releasing a wall of steam into the small room. Riza looks up from her paperwork. She had changed into civilian clothes too, a long skirt and a white button-down like his, and settled into one of the armchairs near the fireplace. The warm glow of the firelight does lovely things to the color of her eyes and hair, loose around her shoulders. The heat brings a faint blush to her cheeks. It isn’t the first time he’s seen her sitting in front of a fire, but the sight never gets old. 

“I bought kebabs with chicken, eggplant, and bell pepper.” Riza gestures to the foil-wrapped package in the chair across from her. “I had mine already. It was even better than the ones we had last month in Meox.” 

Roy flings himself down in the chair, unwrapping the kebabs. They smell wonderful, and he’s glad that they had opted against the cold sandwiches sold on the train. “But are they as good as yours?”

Riza continues writing, and a tiny smirk touches her lips. “No.” 

Roy wolfs down his dinner, making no effort to be decorous. “Why do I have all this paperwork on this table next to me?” he says, with his mouth full. “Isn’t it enough that I spent all of this morning and afternoon in meetings that could have been memos?”

“It’s  _ because  _ you spent all of this morning and afternoon in meetings, instead of getting any work done. And because you refused to make up for any of those hours while on the train, in favor of testing out that new long-distance radio with Havoc.”

Roy bites back a laugh at the memory of his and Havoc’s increasingly ridiculous codenames. “Right.” He balls up the foil packaging and tosses it into the garbage can in the corner of the room. “What are you working on, Hawkeye?”

“Figuring out your schedule for next week.” Riza taps her pen against the paper. “You have two weeks’ worth of meeting requests in one week’s time. I’m trying to make sure that you still have enough downtime to get your paperwork done.”

“ _ Paperwork  _ and _ downtime _ don’t go in the same sentence.” Roy picks up Breda’s most recent intelligence report and rifles through it. “Just plan on me working late on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. That should do it.”

Riza makes a note. “So, I assume I’ll be working late on those nights as well.”

“You assume correctly.” Riza gives him a displeased look, and Roy twirls his pen through his fingers, unable to resist teasing her. “What? Are you upset about missing out on the coming week’s date nights?”

“Hardly,” Riza says, impassive. “I figured that would be more of a concern for you.”

“It isn’t. I’m giving it up.” 

Riza raises an eyebrow, managing, as always, to convey a great deal with that small gesture. 

“I am,” Roy insists. “It’s all getting to be a little much. And it’s pointless.”

Riza raises both eyebrows, this time. “Pointless? With all due respect, this doesn’t sound like you.” 

Roy shrugs, and the expression in Riza’s eyes softens somewhat. “I’m sorry if you had a bad experience, sir.” 

She’s speaking to him in the gentle, pitying way one would address the recently heartbroken. The same way she talks to  _ Havoc,  _ for heaven’s sake. Roy runs a hand through his hair, flustered. “It’s not like that, Lieutenant.”

Riza tilts her head to the side slightly, intrigued without pressing, and he has to elaborate. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant. But the women I’ve gone out with know of my rank and reputation. The Flame Alchemist, the Hero of Ishval,” -- Roy’s voice takes on a faintly mocking air -- “and the youngest Colonel in decades. I’m practically guaranteed to be a Brigadier General by the time I’m thirty-five, if I continue to play my cards right. Do you follow me?”

He sees a flicker of amusement in Riza’s eyes. “If I understand you correctly, you’re implying that your dates would prefer to be more than just dates.” 

“Exactly. They don’t just want a couple of nights out. They want a real relationship, Hawkeye.” Roy sighs, rubbing his temples. “They want to be a General’s wife, someday, and live in a fancy house with large, manicured lawns, and a couple of nice cars, and a couple of nice kids that will go to Central’s best private school.” 

Riza makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “The dream.”

“I can’t provide that,” Roy says tersely. “I have no intentions of living that life. I have no intention of living a  _ long  _ one, after becoming Fuhrer and implementing the changes that we want. If there’s any justice at all, I’ll be held accountable for what I did in Ishval. I don’t want to leave a widow and a couple of kids behind. That’s not an option.”

Riza inclines her head. “That’s fair.”

He shrugs, momentarily lost for words. “It’s starting to feel...wrong, to take what I want from these women, when I know that there’s absolutely no chance of them getting what they want. They want the third date. They want the relationship. They want to be the girlfriend, and then the fiancee, and then the wife. And I’ll never make that happen.”

“So, nobody’s happy.” 

“Basically. Which is why I’m finished with that.” Roy leans back in the armchair, stopping the pretense of working, setting his stack of paperwork on the side table. He regards her thoughtfully. “What about you?”

Riza tenses up slightly. “What about me, Colonel?”

“Oh, you know.” Roy waves a hand casually. “You may not be as highly ranked as I am, and you don’t have the reputation that I do outside of military circles, but you’re a beautiful young woman. That carries its own weight. I’m surprised you’re not beating men back with a stick. Or your pistols.” 

He had intended it as a compliment, but Riza glances at her lap, momentarily downcast. “That’s it, sir. That’s all that men see when they look at me. Just another blonde that they’d like to buy a few drinks for, and then take home for the night.” She sounds resigned. “They don’t see  _ me.  _ It feels a little dehumanizing.” 

This is all news to him, and Roy stiffens. It’s stupid, it’s hypocritical, to be so stricken by men doing the exact same thing to Riza that he’s done to other women. 

“Even the nicer ones, the ones that ask me out to dinner first…” Riza trails off. “They don’t know about Ishval, and the things I did there. They don’t know the burden I carry.” 

“Hmm.” Roy considers this. There’s still a knot in his chest at the idea of anyone being foolish and shallow enough to see his Lieutenant - thoughtful, empathetic, kind, intelligent Riza - as nothing more than a conquest. “You could tell them.”

Riza shakes her head, at once. “They wouldn’t understand. Or they would think I was a monster.” She pauses. “Similarly, I doubt they would understand my goals, and what I’ve dedicated my life to.” 

Roy feels a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I figure that most men would struggle with the idea that their girlfriend spends every day, and some evenings and nights, in service of another man’s ambitions.”

“Exactly.” Riza looks at him steadily. “Besides, I’m in the same position as you. I intend to be held accountable for my actions in Ishval as well.”

They’ve talked - argued; even fought outright - about this before. About the fact that he has no intention of prosecuting her at the same level that he would seek for himself and the other State Alchemists. Riza’s entire kill count in Ishval had been a mere fraction of what his had been. She had vehemently disagreed with his position. “Hawkeye--”

Riza gives him a quelling look, and Roy falls silent. “I don’t want to leave behind a husband or children, either,” she says. “I don’t want to be in a relationship that will go nowhere. That  _ can  _ go nowhere. It seems dishonest - like I would be holding the other person back from the happiness and uncomplicated life they deserve. I would rather dedicate myself fully to work.”

Somehow, with everything else they have in common, he’s not surprised that they share this perspective as well. “We’re both in a similar predicament, then.” 

Riza exhales slowly, and then looks into the fireplace, at the flames crackling there. She looks so far away all of a sudden. 

“What is it?” Roy asks, and she glances at him, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there. 

“Nothing, Colonel. It’s nothing.”

That piques his interest, and he leans forward. “Don’t lie to me, Lieutenant. It violates our unit’s code of conduct.”

Riza narrows her eyes at him, but finally, she gives in. “You pointed out that my commitment to you and our cause doesn’t leave much space for another man,” she says, but then she hesitates, and stops entirely. 

“Well?” Roy prompts, his curiosity getting the better of him. Over the years, they’ve come to know one another so well - as well as they know themselves, he would guess - but this is the one thing they’ve never talked about before. About serious romantic entanglements, and their lack thereof. 

“I’d rather not say.” Maybe it’s just the fire, but Riza’s complexion is a little warmer than it had been several minutes ago. 

“Come on, Hawkeye.” Roy gives her his most charming smile; slides into his most persuasive tone. “My curiosity is killing me.”

Riza sniffs. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“Unfair, Lieutenant. I told you what was on my mind.” 

She sighs again, exasperated, a little resigned, keeping her eyes determinedly trained on the fire. “Fine. You know, you’re like a dog with a bone sometimes.” 

“I am a dog of the military, after all,” Roy says sardonically, and his Lieutenant rolls her eyes. 

“You’re such a significant figure in my life,” Riza says, at last. “And you have been, for so long. I worry that would open the door to...comparisons. That wouldn’t be fair to whoever else was trying to find a place in my life. ” 

Well, he hadn’t expected that. The words are so unexpected, so sweet and so sad, that Roy blinks, lost for words. “Hawkeye,” he says, trying to inject some levity into his tone. “I’m flattered.”

Riza doesn’t have a dry retort for him. She just looks at him with somber eyes, and Roy relents. “I feel the same way.” 

He doesn’t tell his Lieutenant that when he’s looking into his dates’ eyes, he expects to see amber-colored ones looking back at him. He doesn’t tell her that when he leans over to tuck a lock of hair behind their ears, he’s expecting to see her blonde locks against his fingertips. He doesn’t tell her that when they laugh at his jokes (usually too long and too loud for what the joke actually warranted) he expects to see her small, wry smile instead. Or an eye-roll, or that look she gives him sometimes, the one that mingles exasperation with affection. 

He doesn’t tell her any of that. But from the expression on Riza’s face, he thinks that he doesn’t have to. 

Roy clears his throat, breaking their gaze, looking into the fire. “Well, Lieutenant. I think our close professional relationship has put us in an unfortunate situation.”

“As always, you have a gift for understatement, Colonel.”

It had been a typical Hawkeye deadpan, but when Roy looks back, he sees a tiny, reluctant smile on her face. It gives him a shot of courage, or recklessness; he isn’t sure which yet.

“You know,” he muses, “I have a thought exercise for us to work through.”

Thought exercises - running through hypotheticals, from the mundane to the far-fetched - are one of his favorite things about leading his unit, and they are at least a once-weekly event when the unit is together in East City. Riza sets her pen down for the first time, giving him her full attention. “Yes?”

“It would solve a lot of problems if you and I could...”

Roy trails off, his meaning clear, and Riza sits up straighter. 

It’s bold, even for him. It doesn’t just cross the line; it sprints across the line. It isn’t the kind of thing he would have said if they were back in East City. But the sheer distance from the imposing figure of Eastern Command, from superior officers, from anyone else who knows them and might see or overhear something they shouldn’t - that has opened doors. That all feels so far away, here in Liore, sitting by the fire in his room. 

Riza shifts in her chair - not in discomfort, but consideration, drawing her legs underneath her, tucking them to the side. “It’s interesting that you think that. I think it would  _ create _ a lot of problems.”

Her tone is mild, though, and there’s no hint of affront on her face at the outrageous suggestion. Riza seems utterly unfazed by being propositioned by her commanding officer. Which isn’t that surprising, now that Roy thinks about it. He has discussed treasonous plans to overthrow and overhaul the existing government with her for years. Compared to literal, actual treason, the prospect of a sexual relationship seems considerably less shocking. 

Additionally, she hasn’t yet threatened to shoot him in the foot, which is promising. She hasn’t stopped this little thought exercise that he had started.

“I argue that it would solve more than it creates. We’re both unable to pursue relationships, due to the barriers we’ve discussed.” Roy straightens his collar, feeling rather like an attorney beginning opening arguments in a case. “On the other hand, you and I understand our situation perfectly. We know where our lives are headed and where they will end. We know that we aren’t looking for marriage and children.” 

He doesn’t have to say the rest.  _ We know one another and what we’ve done in the past better than anyone else could. There are so many conversations we don’t have to have with one another, that we would have to have with others. _

The truth of what they are striving towards and why, and their vision for their personal futures and the future of Amestris. The years in Ishval and what they had seen and done there. The ugly truth behind the harmless, bloodless epithets of  _ Flame Alchemist  _ and  _ Hawk’s Eye.  _ The nightmares. 

Riza inclines her head slightly, wordlessly allowing him to continue. 

“Pursuing anything with anybody else would distract both of us from our goal, which isn’t an option.” Roy studies her, trying to judge her reaction.

His Lieutenant’s expression gives away nothing. “What makes you think we wouldn’t distract one another?”

“Because I know us, Hawkeye,” Roy replies patiently. “I know that there’s nothing we’re more committed to than reforming this country. You and I both know where this work ends. We always have. Nothing and no one is ever going to make us change our course.”

“That’s all true,” Riza says, her voice steady. 

He hears the rest of her sentence, and sighs. “But?”

“There’s one issue you haven’t addressed. The anti-fraternization regulations.”

“Oh, that.” Roy dismisses her point with a shrug. “It’s not an issue.”

Riza glances skyward for a moment. “Please elaborate, Colonel.”

“The anti-fraternization regulations prohibit personal relationships between officers and enlisted members within the same chain of command, as they are prejudicial to good order and discipline,” Roy recites, with no effort. He and his Lieutenant are both very familiar with the regulations, after all. “Romantic relationships, cohabitation, and marriage fall within the umbrella of personal relationships. We wouldn't be living together. We wouldn't be getting married. And it wouldn’t be a romantic relationship, Hawkeye. It would just be--” He pauses, searching for the most tasteful word choice. “Some companionship, as we need it. To help us make our way down the long road we have ahead. And we would be discreet about it. Nobody would ever know.” 

Riza props her chin in a hand, mulling it over, and Roy watches the firelight flickering in her eyes. “No pressure, of course,” he says, with an easiness he doesn’t feel. The adrenaline and boldness has worn off, leaving him with an uncharacteristic case of nerves. “It was just a thought exercise.”

Riza glances back at him and then stands up, gathering her paperwork. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, sir.” She sounds so calm and even, as if they had been discussing the logistics of how to implement democratic voting in the most rural areas of Amestris. 

Roy stands automatically and opens the door for her. “Good night, then, Lieutenant.”

“Good night.”

Roy watches until she closes her door behind her; until he hears the lock click safely into place. He closes the door, locks it, braces a chair against it, as Riza had suggested. Then he collapses onto the bed and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, all the breath leaving his body in a long sigh. Hughes has always called him a risk-taker and chastised him for being impulsive. That’s nothing new. Tonight, though, he had taken that to an entirely new high. Or an entirely new low, depending on how one looks at it. 

-

They return to East City the following day. A week passes, and Riza gives no indication that their conversation in Liore had ever happened. She treats him the same way she always has, both when others are around and behind the closed doors of their office, after everyone else in their unit has left for the evening. 

“I asked Elizabeth if she’d like to start something up with me,” Roy tells Hughes on the phone, on Saturday night. He’s supposed to be working, but it’s half past eight already, and he hasn’t been working with his full attention span for two reports now. 

Hughes makes a strange sort of spluttering noise; it sounds as if he’s choked on his sandwich. “No way.” 

“It’s true.” Roy winds the phone cord around his finger absentmindedly. “I don’t think she was interested in the idea, though. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. She's the only one I've ever really wanted." 

“Roy--”

Riza walks back into the office then, carrying an armful of files from the archives, and Roy is forced to improvise. “I have no interest in your services, and don’t call this number again,” he orders, in his most forceful tone. He slams the phone down, before giving his Lieutenant an apologetic smile. “Telemarketers. I have no idea how they get their hands on the military lines.”

“Please give Lieutenant Colonel Hughes my regards before you hang up next time.” Riza sets the files on her desk, and then picks up her coat. Roy notices that she’s changed back into civilian clothes, a dark skirt and a silk blouse. “We could head back for the night, since we got quite a bit done today.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Lieutenant.” Roy stands up hastily, before she can reconsider, and picks up his coat. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

They live within a couple of streets of each other, about twenty minutes from Eastern Command. They pass the time in quiet conversation, speculating about how Breda’s undercover mission in Mouhed is going, and the upcoming joint training exercise at Fort Briggs. As always, Roy feels an irritating pang of disappointment when they reach the back parking lot of his Lieutenant’s apartment building. He spends every day with Riza, and many evenings and nights, too, and yet he never tires of her company. 

“Sleep well, Hawkeye.” Roy throws her his most appealing look. “Any chance you’ll bring in coffee on Monday morning?” 

“I could be persuaded.” Riza crosses her legs, and Roy tries to ignore the slit up the side of her skirt. She studies him for a couple of moments, and he catches the faintest flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “Would you like to walk me upstairs, Colonel?”

She’s never asked him that before. It takes the words - the offer - a moment to register. Roy shifts the car into park as soon as it does, more roughly than he should. “I would,” he says, realizing that he can’t remember the last time he had to fight back an actual shiver of anticipation. “Very much. Oh, and Lieutenant?” 

Riza’s hand stills on the door. “Yes?”

“You should call me by my name, when we’re upstairs.” Roy remembers, then, that Riza’s apartment building doesn’t have an elevator, and they’ll have to make it up four flights of stairs like civilized adults. 

“Of course, Colonel.” Riza holds his gaze, and Roy’s mouth goes very dry. “I think I’ll be able to do that. When we get upstairs.” She pauses and adds, almost as an afterthought. “You can call me whatever you want.” 

_ Riza.  _ It’s how he refers to her in his mind, but never out loud, not for years. It makes his throat burn, how much he wants to say it. To whisper it as he lets her hair down from its updo, and brushes his fingers against her collarbones. Roy exhales slowly. “We should go up. Now.”

Riza gives him a small smile. “Yes, sir.” 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Writing from Roy's POV is always an interesting and amusing exercise. I had a bit of a laugh while I was writing this because it's basically like
> 
> Roy: What if... we fucked... ahaha, just kidding Lieutenant, it was just a thought exercise, just running hypotheticals...unless...? 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading; I'd love to know what you thought! Royai Week has been super fun so far, both with reading others' amazing and creative responses to the prompts and sharing my own stuff. I'm hoping to have Day 5's prompt posted sometime tomorrow, but it might be a day late if I don't get it up in time.


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